Chapter 22
Penelope
Ihold the ring Logan gave me between my pointer finger and thumb, and narrow my gaze at the dream jar framed in its center. Carrie had plans with a friend tonight, which left me alone, relaxing in our fancy apartment, hair wrapped in a towel, a robe around my body, and my face slathered in a chunky green avocado concoction that’s still browning on the coffee table.
“Don’t look at me all judgy like that,” I grumble to the glass before sliding the ring on my finger and examining the cathedral setting.
A half-carat emerald sparkles as I tilt it into the light. The piece is classic, and just as beautiful now as it was then.
I glance back at that damn jar and think about my day with Logan at the group home.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, rattling the sand mixture as I turn it over.
A dream, you idiot, it seemingly whispers.
“Oh, yeah? Well, if you’re so smart, then what’s the difference between a dream and a wish?”
Because the way I see it, one’s a fantasy while the other’s a letdown.
“My dream is for the home to never close, and for Ricardo and Dorthea to always have the means to provide for children in need.”
That’s their dream, not yours, the jar whispers haughtily.
“For an inanimate object, you sure have a bad attitude.”
I wait for another smart remark, but it’s gone silent.
“Dammit. This is one of those self-reflection things, isn’t it?”
When it warms beneath my palms, I casually slide it across the counter and pat the lid. “Oh-kay, that’s enough of that for the evening.”
I spot two shells–one blue and one purple–snuggled on top of the sand, and I’m reminded of Logan’s claim that I’m his dream.
I’ve tried convincing myself that everything he says is a lie, but resisting him is like rowing a boat with a hole too wide to patch. It fills and fills with water, no matter how hard I work to prevent it, and I know I’m going to drown, but my fate is inevitable.
I twirl his grandmother’s ring around my finger.
He said I was holding back, and he’s right. As long as Silas stands in our way, I can never fully trust him. But I’m also confused, torn, and dear god, I can’t stop thinking about what he did to me in the back of that car.
Our bodies touching, mouths clashing, and hands roaming… An agonizing burn blooms in my center when I remember what it felt like to give in. What it felt like to be praised and revered as a woman of worth.
Stepping into my bedroom, I head for the nightstand and open the top drawer to replace the ring.
I pause at my stash of sex toys, and that blooming desire morphs into a demanding burn. My finger taps on the edge of the drawer as I debate. But my plan was to relax, and a good orgasm is going to do the trick.
Grabbing Jorge Junior, I click the button on the bottom until I reach my favorite setting, and then lie back on top of the comforter, slowly easing my legs apart.
Vibrations tease my clit as I glide the swirling, curved shaft up, down, and between my lips. That sexy smirk Logan wields sits right at the forefront of my thoughts, with image after image of me on my knees, sucking him deeply beneath his desk.
“Mmm,” I hum into the quiet as pressure steadily builds in my pelvis.
I don’t so much as get one solid moan out before three pounding knocks come from the front door.
Jorge continues pulsing, but my hand stills as I wait to see if I imagined it.
Another round of knocks has me bolting upright. “Fuck! Shit. Fuckingshit.”
With one hand clutching my robe tighter around my neck, I scurry to the living room window, part the blinds, and peer at the ground below.
Javier stands in the circle drive, and when he catches me peeking, he waves politely.
“Open up, Pen.” Logan’s low voice, rumbling through the door, jolts me backward.
With that incessant throb still lingering between my legs, and my heart leaping to my throat, I backpedal.
“Eep!” I trip into the marble coffee table, banging my shins as my arms flail to catch me, and Jorge Junior goes flying.
Clunk.
I watch, utterly horrified, as he lands inside the bowl full of smashed avocado at the exact moment the front door opens.
My hands fly up as if the police just busted the door down, prepared to book me for indecency with a foreign object.
“Logan,” I breathe, but I’m not sure if I’m relieved or horrified to find him leaning against the frame. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I could ask the same of you, Swamp Thing.”
When I touch my cheek, the tips of my fingers come away coated in a mixture of green goop.
Great. I always wondered how I was going to die, and unsurprisingly, it’s from embarrassment.
“Is that… Jorge Junior?”
He remembered his name.
Make that an agonizingly slow death from embarrassment.
Striving for casual, I cross my arms. “What? Who’s that? Never met him.”
“Your vibrator,” he says, swaggering inside. “The one currently thrusting inside a bowl of guacamole.”
I flick a sideways glance at the dish being impaled in rapid pumping motions.
“Aw, man.”
That was supposed to be my world he was guacing.
When I twist back to Logan, he’s boasting the very smirk I’d been touching myself to—only this one’s paired with a heavy dose of humor. “Were you masturbating?”
I snatch Jorge off the table, and once I’ve turned him off, I jab the avocado-covered penis at the center of Logan’s chest. “Forcing me to wear a uniform? Fine. Demanding I live wherever you choose? Whatever, I’ll deal. But I draw the line at you having a key to come and go as you please.”
His head tilts, but that light in his eyes merely quadruples. “Don’t want me catching you in the act, sunshine?”
Considering his promise to use my toys in the bedroom, something tells me that’s exactly what he’d like to do.
In all the chaos, I hadn’t noticed his tourist-style shirt, distressed shorts, and stiff leather flip-flops. The can lights above highlight the rusty streaks in his loosely gelled hair, and I fight the urge to tell him he looks ridiculous…ly handsome.
“You’re wearing normal people clothes.” I lower my arm—and my large purple friend—to my side. “Wait, what are you doing here, anyway?”
“First, the door was unlocked.” Having ditched the towel on my head at some point, he reaches up and picks several strands of my hair out of the mostly dried mask. “And since you think I’m such a stiff, I thought I’d try something new.”
I will not swoon over this man buying cheap clothing for me. I won’t do it.
Okay, fine. I’m swooning.
Logan swipes a layer of avocado from my cheek, rolling it between his fingers. He cocks a brow at Jorge. “As tempted as I am to join the two of you, I’ve made plans for us this evening.”
“Plans? No, no. I can’t go anywhere like this,” I argue.
His eyes travel from my face to my bare feet, and the grin he gives my wiggling toes makes my stomach somersault. “I’ll wait for you outside. You won’t need shoes where we’re going, but you’ll want to dress comfortably. And be quick. I don’t want to be late.”
I’m hot on his heels when he turns for the door. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Quite the opposite.” There’s a juvenile thrill tugging at his cheeks, showcasing those dimples that easily drag me under his spell. “My mind’s clearer now than it has been for the last twelve years.”
“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
Any resistance I had left dissolves when he tips my chin up, gifting me with a panty-dropping wink. “Seaside.”
* * *
“Do you trust me?”
My heart thumps twice as hard when I answer, “Unfortunately.”
Logan walks behind me across the beach with his hands clamped over my eyes.
The sounds of a guitar, clinking glasses, and laughter ride the wind, fluttering my hair and my neon pink sundress.
I cling to his wrists on unsteady legs while sand slides through my toes. I hear water rolling along the shoreline, and the air is balmy, salt-heavy, and inviting.
“You’re going to rip my arms out of their sockets,” he teases when I trip.
I blink a brilliant pink, orange, and sky-blue ocean into view when his hands fall from my face. “Well, it was your bright idea to blind me.”
“Must you be such a pain in my ass?”
When he pinches mine, I whirl on him.
“Hercules!” a woman shouts in the distance, halting my smart remark.
A mixture of deep, warning barks surrounds us as Logan steps in front of me. “No. Bad dog.”
“Oh, god. Don’t let him eat me. Don’t let him eat me,” I beg, clinging to the back of his shirt and bracing to be tackled by an enormous beast.
When I peer around him, a tiny white chihuahua yips excitedly, tail wagging before vaulting himself head-first into my chest.
I catch the squirming critter as two other dogs, four times his size, sniff around my legs. Their cold, wet noses tickle my shins while I cast a wary glance at Logan.
“Hercules?” I ask, dodging his rapid-fire tongue. “I thought I was about to be mauled.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but his manners are shit.” I grin at the familiar face, greeting me with a warm smile.
Logan wraps an arm over her shoulders fondly. “Ida, I believe you’ve met Penelope.”
Her outfit is equally as funky as the day we met. The mustard-yellow bandana rolled behind her ears, keeping her wild gray hair out of her face, is the same color as the retro floral tank top tucked into her bright purple shorts.
The bite sized pup leaps from my arms and into hers.
“It’s nice to see you again, Penelope.” She adjusts her red-rimmed glasses and then winks at Logan cheekily. “You’re just in time to watch the sunset.”
He bumps me with his elbow. “We would have been here sooner, but someone made us late.”
“I wasn’t exactly prepared for a night out.”
“I’ll say,” he says, and I shove him, blushing furiously at his suggestive tone.
Ida’s laugh is loud and bursting with personality, making me instantly comfortable. “My sunset soiree is a laid-back affair. It’s impossible to be late and more impossible to want to leave.”
I’m grinning like a fool, following her footsteps with my head on a swivel while I take in the view.
“Ida has a thing for themed parties,” Logan says as we approach the set up.
Her ruby-red lips twitch. “Party planning was my full-time gig once upon a time.”
“Among many other things,” he teases.
“Eh. Never saw the fun in working at the same old desk till I croaked. How do you think I met so many amazing people?”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” I say.
Ida leans in close, dropping her voice as if to tell me a secret. “Want some unsolicited advice from an old coot like me? Never let someone put you in a box when you were meant to shine.”
Logan’s lips twitch when he sees me beaming, fully enamored with the woman.
Straight ahead, a wall of sand serves as the backdrop for a circular sitting space. It’s intimate, yet large enough to seat twenty, and carved deep into the sand. A sheer canopy sways above a wooden table nestled in the center, with string lights casting a soft, ethereal glow over the men and women sitting before an assortment of arranged place settings.
Declan sits amongst Ida’s friends, entranced by a man with dark skin, wearing a cream-colored scarf-style skirt, and gold accessories. The man shares a story, waving his arms around animatedly, and ripples of laughter echo through the cove.
But he’s not the only one dressed eccentrically. All of Ida’s friends have some sort of fun, quirky aspect about them that makes them standout.
Palm trees arch above the little hideaway, and the bluffs jutting out across the water touch the fading pink and purple sky.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Ida,” I murmur.
With nothing but the symphony of nature chattering in the trees and a man plucking soft chords from a guitar by a crackling fire, it’s downright mystical.
Ida waves at her friends when they spot us, and an older man in a white shirt, paired with suspenders and khaki shorts, wraps her in a big hug.
I smile behind my hand when he grabs a handful of her butt, and she pokes his chest.
“You haven’t even seen the best part,” Logan says, gesturing toward the shore.
Several kids from the group home splash through the water, chasing each other with glee pealing from their chests.
Ricardo’s playing volleyball with the older bunch across a net lit up with gold lights, while my sister and Dorthea dance and twirl with Mable in the sand.
Confused, I twist back to Logan. “Carrie said she was out with a friend?”
“I asked her to fib,” he says.
My throat tightens so hard I nearly choke. “And the kids?”
He shrugs, timidly running a hand through his hair, contradicting his usual arrogance. “I thought they’d enjoy a night out and a nice meal. Give them a sense of normalcy.”
“Nellie!” Mable shouts before running back up the beach.
I swallow as they all make their way toward us. Tarra watches her feet, hugging her arms around her middle as Brantly races ahead of her, but it’s her timid smile that really gets me.
“I know this means the world to them.” I can’t keep my voice from wobbling when I say, “Thank you.”
He brushes his thumb across my cheek tenderly, lovingly. “You’re welcome.”
Ida’s stare is one of mischief when I catch her eyes on us. We’re swiftly interrupted by Mable’s babbling as she thrusts one of twenty shell necklaces hanging from her neck at me.
“Check this out. Miss Ida made me the honorary friendship necklace hander-outer, and I saved this one just for you!”
I take the string of mismatched shells from her tiny hand and gratefully place them around my neck. She demands Logan bow next so she can give him one, too.
“Oh! They match.” She giggles excitedly.
Logan examines the necklace before raising his gaze to mine. “Would you look at that.”
“All right,” Ida says, gently patting the back of the youngest boy, who shyly attaches himself to her hip. “Who’s hungry?”
There’s a mixture of me’s as we trail after her, but with Logan preoccupied by Mable tugging his hand, I casually drop back beside Dorthea.
She’s oddly contemplative tonight, and for a moment, I’m afraid we’ve overstepped by bringing them here.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I could take these guys somewhere fun?” She stares at the sand, shaking her head. “Years, Pen. We do our best to give them everything they need, but Ricardo, bless my man, he’s prideful.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” I retort.
She snickers, stopping short of where everyone’s setting up for dinner.
“Stubborn ass that he is, he means well. And you know we all love you so much, right?”
Dorthea turns her face toward the sun, setting over the water. She gazes thoughtfully with a frown tugging her lips, and I place my hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry if any of this made you feel uncomfortable. I can talk to Logan. See if he can take you guys back if you want. Whatever you need.”
“Don’t.”
“What?” I ask, slowly lowering my hand.
“Apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong. You do it all the time, but you’re rarely ever at fault.”
I choke on a second apology, trying to claw its way up my throat. Much like my mouth running away from me, it’s an impulse that’s difficult to control.
“I’m not bothered by his kindness. I’m grateful.” She nods to where Logan and Brantly are helping Ida sort the food on the grill. “I appreciate you more than you can imagine, but I don’t want your apologies, Penelope. I want you to be happy.”
Of course she means with Logan, but she doesn’t understand. The delicacy of our situation is about far more than just happiness.
Logan takes a bite of food and tosses it in the air, clapping when Brantly jumps for it.
Guess that doesn’t stop me from wanting it anyway, does it?
Tucking my toes in a cool pile of sand, I mutter, “I’ll be happy when you guys are taken care of. Then I’ll worry about me.”
She tuts disapprovingly before pulling me in for a hug. I melt into her sisterly embrace, missing how close Carrie and I once were—how close our family was—and that feeling of coming home.
“It’s okay to let someone take care of you, too, you know,” she says once she releases me, and the sentiment hits me square in the chest.
“Yeah.” I search for my sister, finding her across the beach, helping Tarra toss logs into the fire pit. “I think you’re right.”
“We’ll save you a seat,” she says, squeezing my hand before I make my way over to them.
They high-five, proud of their handy work, and I pick at my nails, struggling to find the right words.
“Hey, sis. Can we talk for a min—whoa.”
She looks beautiful with sunset-hued eyeshadow streaking her eyelids and pretty pink gloss on her lips.
Tarra beams proudly. “You like? I did it for her.”
“You’re getting good at that,” I say before arching a brow at Carrie. “Not your usual look, but I dig it.”
She dusts her hands off on her shorts with a timid shrug. “You inspired me to try something new.”
We grow quiet; me nibbling a fingernail, and Carrie crossing her arms.
Tarra looks between us before hooking her thumbs over her shoulder. “Um, yeah. Why don’t I catch you guys in a bit?”
I wave as she leaves, but Carrie startles me by throwing her arms around my middle.
“I’m so sorry, Pen. I know things have been awkward between us, and it’s all my fault.”
Despite myself, I smile against her hair, tickling the tip of my nose. “It’s okay.”
“You were right. What you do here, who you’re with… None of that is my business. It’s just hard being so far away from you, and I’m a fixer. I never ever want to see you hurt or suffering, but I understand now that I was overstepping.”
We’re smiling when she pulls back, and for the first time since she arrived, I allow myself to be honest with her. “I was only defensive because I feel like, all my life, I’ve been a black sheep, living in the shadows of our family’s successes. And I’m so damn proud of you, but those insecurities creep in now and then, making me wish I was half as accomplished as you are.”
“Funny, because I’ve always felt like I could never live up to you.”
I’m completely taken aback. “Really?”
She shrugs. “You have a real gift with others. You’re an empath, and that’s why those kids love you as much as they do. It’s why I do, too. Because you give them, and me, a safe place to land when we’re unsure of ourselves.”
I offer her my arm, and she slips hers inside it, laying her head on my shoulder as we walk. “I just want you to know that I love you, exactly as you are, and I never meant to make you feel differently.”
“Thank you,” I say, resting my head against hers, feeling so damn grateful for her—bossy, overprotectiveness, and all. “I’m sorry for making such a mess of your vacation.”
“Don’t be. It’s been an adventure, that’s for sure.”
We wear relaxed smiles as we stop short of the covered grill area.
“I’m heading out to Mom and Dad’s after this,” she says. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. But I think you should reconsider talking to them. I know you’re nervous about how they’ll react about everything, but I know when they see how much these kids and that home means to you, they’ll understand.”
Just the thought makes my skin crawl with anxiety, festering inside the wound Logan ripped open weeks ago. The one that took me to a place of fear, insecurity, and abandonment that I’ve long been neglecting.
“I’ll think about it,” I say eventually.
Carrie sticks her pinky up, and I shake my head before wrapping mine around hers. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m gonna miss you, too. But I have a feeling things will turn around for you.”
Over her shoulder, I see Ida’s friends stand to welcome the others, making room for them around the table, and I can’t help but turn my gaze to Logan and Ida, cooking together as if all of this is normal to him.
Carrie follows my stare. “You really like him.”
“Maybe…”
A knowing smile, and then, “I approve. He’s actually hot now that he’s grown into his long limbs and ditched the surfer hair.”
My nose wrinkles. “Oh my god. Stop.”
“Have you guys done it yet?”
“Carrie,” I hiss, but she’s grinning, obviously enjoying my reaction.
Ricardo takes a seat beside Dorthea, shaking his butt as he wiggles in, and she pinches his side. He hangs his arm around her and kisses her forehead as she tucks herself into his chest.
Whatever was troubling her earlier has seemingly passed, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
My sister’s expression is honest and soft when she says, “Logan looks at you like that, you know.”
Unable to resist, I glance back to find him flipping meat and following Ida’s firm instruction with the concentration of a dutiful student.
“Go on.” Carrie shoves me in his direction.
I swat at her. “Okay, okay.”
Ida’s face lights up when I approach, peering at their handy work. “We’re just about ready. Would you mind helping Logan carry the food to the table? I don’t want to overwork the poor thing.”
His lips purse at her teasing. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve got everything under control.”
“Scoot over and let me help before we all starve to death.”
I slide a colorful array of grilled vegetables across the stone counter surrounding the flat top grill.
Logan leans close enough that our elbows touch before he mutters, “Ida’s doing her damndest to turn me into a housewife.” He scoops the last batch of cooked squash off the grill with a metal spatula and piles them on top of the rest.
It’s oddly sexy watching him do something as conventional as cooking when I’m used to seeing him behind a desk in a designer suit.
“Would you believe, when we first met, he didn’t know the difference between a spatula and a saucepan?” Ida muses.
My cheek twitches as I balance the veggie tray in my arms. “Honestly? Yes.”
“Hey,” he grumbles, tossing a stray slice of squash at my head.
I chuck one back, curling my lips beneath my teeth when it nails him in the forehead.
“What? You can’t expect a woman to marry a man who doesn’t know how to season food,” Ida says before adding a pinch of an herb mix to the top of the meat. The salty aroma makes my stomach growl in anticipation. “Now you understand the complexity of flavor and spice. You’re welcome.”
Amused, Logan loads the empty tray with the cooked fish, and once finished, he cradles it in his hands. “I suppose I have more to thank you for than cooking lessons, given you were the first friend I made in the harbor.”
“And when I die, you’ll be the sole heir to the one thing I hold dearest to my heart…” She flashes a grin at me. “My lingerie collection.”
“Ida,” he groans as we make our way to the table.
“What? They’re in great condition.” She cackles, rounding the canopy with an enormous bowl of wild rice. “Your future wife will thank me.”
I’m snort-laughing as we trudge through the sand, carefully balancing our platters.
“Don’t encourage her,” Logan chides.
Hercules weaves in and out of our legs, on the hunt for any dropped morsels, and before we take the steps leading into the pit where everyone is waiting, I bend to slip him a tiny sliver of squash.
“How can I not? Ida’s awesome.”
Logan successfully disarms me with an easy smile. “I knew you two would be fast friends.”
Tonight, there are no shadows over him, and his unfiltered joy takes me back to all those promises that we would have something just like this one day. A family, a purpose, something that was beautiful, meaningful, and ours.
“I can see why you keep Ida a secret,” I say quietly. “It’s obvious she loves you, and I’m genuinely happy you have her.”
His eyes are gentle, if not somber, when he says, “She reminded me of you—her spirit, her quirks, and everything in between.”
He takes the first step into the pit before looking back. “Being around her kind of felt like you were back in some ways. Like I could pretend I never lost you in the first place.”
My heart bangs against my sternum when he turns away from me, and with each step I take after him, I feel the last of my bitter defenses quaking, ready to fall.
We’re a well-blended mix, with Declan and my sister near the head of the table, the kids sprinkled in between Ida’s friends, and Dorthea, Ricardo, and Tarra taking up space on the end closest to me and Logan.
“Will you guys give them a damn minute to get settled?” Ida asks, face wrinkling with amusement when the group immediately hounds us with questions.
The man in suspenders makes room for her while the storyteller reaches for the food in my hands. “Here, sugar, I’ll take that for you.” He flashes a set of white teeth when he introduces himself. “Name’s Agán.”
“Penelope,” I say as he sets the tray in the center of the table with the rest of our meal.
“We’re glad you’re here, Penelope.”
The sincerity in his words swells my heart as I shuffle to the spot Tarra saved me at the end, next to her and Dorthea. Logan takes the spot across from me, beside Mable, and we go around the table, exchanging introductions before serving the kids first.
Ida double checks each child’s plate is filled to the edges, while the rest of us help ourselves, and I bask in the sense of safety and acceptance I feel being here with all of them. It’s the same kind of peace Logan and I only ever found in each other, and it hits me then that he’s probably been deprived of this sort of thing most of his life.
Except for that summer.
I always saved him a seat at our table back then.
“Well,” Ida says once we’re all settled in, “I’m not much for praying, and I’m not very poetic, either. But I do know how to give thanks, and I can’t think of a better night to do just that.”
She raises her water glass, and we follow suit.
“Damn straight,” says the woman sitting beside her with neon green hair and a face full of piercings.
The one holding her hand beside her snorts. “No, you’re not.”
The table erupts with laughter, and when Logan’s playful eyes catch mine, I smile.
Tarra nudges me under the table, and I nudge her back.
Across from us, Mable tries to pour herself some water from a pitcher. Her tongue pokes out in concentration when she raises the lip to her glass, but it’s too heavy for her wrist to hold.
“Here, I’ve got you,” Logan says, reaching to steady her hand.
Dear god. My insides go all buttery when she beams up at him and he winks at her.
Ida sets her glass down on the tablecloth. “I want our new friends to know how special you are to all of us just by being here. Anywhere you find me, you’ll be welcome, no questions asked. There will always be room for you at my table.”
Agán waves his hand through the air, the thin gold bangles jingling on his wrist. “Now, you better stop before you get us crying.”
Ida blows him a kiss before sweeping at hand at our dinner. “Let’s eat!”
The sun has set now, and the lights hanging through the canopy cast the table in a cozy, romantic glow. And with every bite, my body relaxes.
“So, how did all of you meet?” I ask the group, nibbling my lip when Logan’s foot finds mine in the sand beneath the table.
“Ida collects various trinkets and antiques, but she’s a friend collector at her core,” Agán says with a gleam in his eye. “She’s roped each of us into her circle one way or another over the years, but we met during my time as a belly dancer.”
A woman older than Ida, with vibrant red hair and tattoos covering her neck and shoulders, groans, “Oh, here we go. Now he’ll never shut up.”
A smirk tugs at his lips, crinkling his gold eyeliner. “I used to travel across the United States with the circus.”
Mable’s jaw drops. “A circus? Like, with tigers and elephants?”
“Absolutely, my dear. But it didn’t last long. I fell in love with a dancer from Nicaragua and finally found my calling.”
“Don’t forget about her stepbrother,” the man in suspenders, named Charles, pipes up.
He raises his glass, seemingly lost in a fond memory. “Now that was a ménage à trois for the books, my friend.”
Mable cocks her head. “What’s that?”
Ruffling her hair, Logan holds a finger to his lips, and Agán chuckles deeply. “After years of travel, and a nasty breakup, I settled in Topica Bay to finish the last of my scheduled performances, and I met Ida at one of my shows.”
I swallow a bite, too eager to ask for permission before I say, “Well, if you feel like coming out of retirement, Summit Estates is hosting a charity event this weekend. I think it’d be great to have a performance like that.”
Logan grins. “Now there’s a thought.”
Agán turns to him. “Charity event, huh?”
“Yeah, it was Dad’s idea, if you can believe it.”
Looking down at the opposite end of the table, Agán gasps. “Silas, charitable? Has hell frozen over?”
Noting my confusion, Logan swallows a bite of food, then clears his throat to clarify. “Dad didn’t find this area to be as profitable as Keerah, and tried to shut Honey Hollow down shortly after it was opened.”
The entire table erupts with a collective boo.
“How did you convince him to keep it?” Dorthea asks.
Ida’s face fills with pride when Logan says, “I told him that sometimes the smallest things can have the greatest value.”
A hoard of cloth napkins assails him as they heckle him with a round of aww’s.
Charles hooks an arm around Ida’s shoulders and raises his glass. “Now he’ll never be rid of us.”
He waves them off, but an odd twinge of envy burns my gut, temporarily stealing my appetite. I try to cover up with a smile, pretending not to be bothered, but it’s the pretending which bothers me the most.
Logan’s open and honest with the people he cares about while I’m still hiding behind my pride, afraid I’ll never measure up, afraid to be a failure, and more afraid to give this version of myself to the man in front of me.
“Oh, but Honey Hollow is such a gorgeous place,” the tattooed woman says. “Logan and Declan designed the complex themselves. There’s even a beautiful mosaic of the sun in the courtyard. You’ll have to stop by and see it sometime.”
His eyes are already fixed on me when I flick my gaze at him. He watches me slowly put the pieces together, one beautiful memory at a time.
“Black is too dark a color for you.”
“There’s nothing quiet about you, sunshine.”
“You’re beautiful. Did you know that? Like a ray of sunshine.”
It can’t be true. Logan didn’t—wouldn’t—use me as inspiration for Honey Hollow because, when it was built, we were living completely separate lives. And because if he did, then that means he still loved me.
It means maybe he never stopped.
When I clutch my water with a trembling hand, he’s there, gently smoothing his thumb over the backs of my knuckles.
I close my eyes, wishing like hell I hadn’t let my guard down. That we could stay in the safety of this cove, and I could hide a little while longer.
If I just take a moment to breathe, I can sort this out. I can find a way to reinforce those crumbling walls of mine and still protect myself.
“Pen,” he murmurs, lightly tugging my fingers.
I grip my glass harder. Resisting, resisting… “I can’t.”
I’m frozen with fear. Terrified to acknowledge what’s happening between us—hell, what’s been happening, despite every consequence we’ll face—but more than that…
I’m terrified I may feel the same.
“Look at me, Penelope.”
When I finally find the courage to lift my eyes, there’s nothing and no one but the two of us. Everyone has faded except for him, and his face becomes an unfiltered canvas of emotion, revealing one undeniable truth.